


Up All Night For Good Fun

by bench



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming, S&M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 09:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1853176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bench/pseuds/bench
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He rises slowly, palms pressed to the surface of the desk. You back up the scant inches between you and the wall breathing hard and irrationally turned on. Well. At this point you pretty much know what's coming. It's more rational than not, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up All Night For Good Fun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eighth_chiharu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eighth_chiharu/gifts).



> For the Drone Season 2014 Exchange! Prompt: Dad punishes Bro for always acting like a teenager instead of acting the 30 years old he actually is.

You feel like a huge fucking tool sneaking around the house like a thief or some shit, but your options are limited. You're way too late – if you don't want to get what's coming to you, you're just going to have to make it into bed and hope no one notices that you've been gone for the last six or so hours. That's the plan anyway. It's an awful fucking plan since he'd have to be a complete idiot to not have noticed you've been gone all night, but it's the best you've got. The whole situation is juvenile as hell, and forcibly reminds you of the sneaking around you did as a teenager. Of course it would be someone's father who would get you back to acting like you're 16 again. You try not to think of Dad as you inch your way around some sort of large decorative plant. 

A stick snaps under your foot and you flinch. Drunk, drunk, drunk, you are never this sloppy. You try to focus as you circle the house, testing each window as you go. You probably make a fuckton of noise climbing around through the bushes and shit in the well-maintained yard, but at this point you really just want to get in the house and pass out. It's not like you really have to worry about waking anyone up, Dave and John sleep like the dead and despite what you might have been hoping there is really no way Dad doesn't already know. 

You are annoyed that he has got you to the point where you have to sneak around to be able to do shit someone your age should be able to do whenever you want, but at the same time you do feel like a bit of an asshole. You came up here to spend time with Dad, not to get way to drunk with a bunch of total strangers. To be totally honest with yourself – and what time is better for honesty than tramping through the shrubbery in the dead of night while three sheets to the wind – you're nervous. You and Dad have cybered like a pair of thirsty-ass fifteen-year-old bloggers and goddamn that man can get it, but it's very different in person. You just… want to be good for him. And now you've fucked it up before you even started.

You just wanted to go out, get a quick drink, calm your nerves, and be back before he knew you were missing. But instead you let yourself get carried away talking to people and taking shots and just generally fucking around. It was pretty much just a delay tactic and a particularly awful one at that.

The window you are currently ineffectually shoving at gives way suddenly and you nearly fall face first into the room beyond. You don't shout, but only because the wind was completely knocked from your lungs by the windowsill. Your breath wheezes as you fight for air and you are definitely the world's biggest tool. You've been looking forward to this night for weeks and all you are doing is fucking it up more and more. Once you are breathing normally again, you crawl the rest of the way through the window, awkwardly uncoordinated and swearing under your breath. Just as you are about to make it all the way inside the house (fucking finally) your foot catches on the window frame and you collapse onto the floor in a heap.

You seriously ponder just staying there. Sleeping in a crumbled mess with your nose mashed against the carpet. You are pretty sure that you have slept in less comfortable places before. Probably. You have largely resigned yourself to your carpet-y fate when you hear a noise. A gentle sort of creak like someone shifting in a chair. Specifically Dad's chair. The chair in his office. The chair that you have heard who even knows how many times in video chats that were hot enough to get you halfway to coming in your pants just thinking about them. 

Oh shit.

It takes an embarrassing amount of flailing around on the floor like a landed fish before you can bring to bear enough limbs to lever yourself into a sitting position. The dim light of the lamp on the desk isn't enough to illuminate the corners of the room, and it sends indistinct shadows across the floor and walls. The desk faces the window you just fell through and Dad's monolithic leather chair faces away. You can't tell if there is anyone sitting there. It's perfectly possible that a stray breeze through the window you just opened caused it to move slightly. You really, really hope that is the case. You are going to have to confront what you did eventually, but you would love for it to be not right now.

You climb awkwardly to your feet and slide the window shut. Enough time has passed between walking back to the house, stomping all over the fucking garden, and becoming one with the carpet that you are starting to feel almost sober. You usually sleep much later than this, you can go work on your website for a few hours and the maybe tomorrow pretend that nothing happened. You survey the room one final time (finally here for real after seeing it via webcam so many times, maybe you can fuck on the desk) when the chair swivels dramatically around.

He doesn't have to say anything to make you shrink. His eyes are narrow with distaste or disappointment, but probably both. The unlit pipe clenched between his teeth quivers slightly as he reaches up to take it from between his teeth. 

Words pour from your mouth largely against your will. You haven't been able to keep your poker face around him since the day you met. "Dad! I… shit! I didn't mean to stay out so late, I fucked up, I really fucked up. We talked so much about tonight. This was supposed to be fucking special or some shit and now it's three in the goddamn morning and I just wanna… fuck I wanna touch you. I'm sorry, let me show you how sorry I am." 

His eyes had widened briefly when you started talking, then gradually narrowed as you spoke. It's a bit embarrassing, but your dick has been interested from the second you saw that goddamn chair and now? With Dad right in front of you and no kids getting in the way? Hot fucking damn. You are fully prepared to babble on until he starts taking off his pants, but he cuts you off by slamming his hand on the table. You don't quite cringe. 

He rises slowly, palms pressed to the surface of the desk. You back up the scant inches between you and the wall breathing hard and irrationally turned on. Well. At this point you pretty much know what's coming. It's more rational than not, really. You bite your bottom lip to keep your mouth from going off again.

You stare at each other for a long moment: Dad with consideration and you with anxious arousal. You are pretty sure that you are going to get exactly what you wanted when you came here and your fuckup has given him the perfect reason to hand you the punishment that you crave. You want it so bad, but you don't dare make the first move. Your breath comes in heavy gasps and your hands pressed to the cool glass of the window is barely enough to keep you grounded. Then in a sharp movement he sweeps his arm across the desk sending a cloud of papers scattering across the floor. This time you do cringe, the sudden action startling you out of your vaguely pornographic reverie. 

Dad shoves the office chair out of the way as he steps back from the desk, gesturing at its surface broadly. You walk over, probably appearing much more hesitant than your usual self-assured swagger. But well. You are about to do _the sex_ in person for the first time and while your feelings about it have swung back from the dismal expectations you had earlier, there is still plenty of time for it to all go wrong. 

You round the desk and stand in front of it, unsure of what exactly Dad wants you to do. Without the desk providing a barrier between you all you want to do is throw yourself at him and maybe let him fuck you against the wall or something like that, but you restrain yourself through a combination of self-preservation and awareness of delayed gratification. Dad has mangrit up to here and you know that if you were to touch him without permission he would have you flat on your face before you could get more than a half-assed grope in.

When he sees your hesitation, Dad raises an eyebrow and glances significantly at the desk. You move to sit on it, but then he starts unbuckling his belt. You make a strangled sort of whine and throw yourself face first on the desk with more enthusiasm than coordination. You are distantly annoyed at how quickly your poise deserts you as soon as your dick gets hard. 

You find yourself babbling again as you stretch to grab onto the far edge of the desk. "Dad, Sir, I was bad, I was so bad. I'm sorry, I'll do whatever you want. I left and I didn't tell anyone and I'm back so what, what the hell was I thinking?? Anything that I can do to make up for it I'll do it, do whatever you want…"

His hand slips past your hip where it rests on the edge of the desk to get at the buckle of your own belt. Your inane monologue is cut off as his fingers brush over your dick and you grip harder to keep from jerking into his hand. You don't have permission to touch or move away from the desk and you aren't going to fail again. Trying to steady your breathing is a hopeless task, but you concentrate on it anyway as the sensation of Dad pulling your zipper open makes you want to squirm and probably beg. He tugs your pants and briefs down together and leaves them twisted around your knees. 

You are breathing in short gasps as you wait for whatever happens next, your dick heavy and occasionally brushing against the desk when you move just right making you whine dizzily. It would surprise you if the desk didn't bear the indents of your fingernails after all this is done with the way you are holding onto it. After a few seconds, minutes, years of watching you squirm dad finally runs the tips of his fingers over the curve of your ass and you shiver. He follows his fingers with the icy buckle of his belt. You can hear yourself making noises you would rather not admit you are capable of making. Fortunately he doesn’t make you wait any longer, bringing the belt down with perfect accuracy on the crease between your ass and thighs before you can embarrass yourself any further. 

It doesn't really hurt, just stings so, _so_ good. Most of the tension in your body falls out all at once. Dad's got you. He's going to take care of you and make sure you get what you deserve. All you need to do is obey, and tonight at the very least you can. You can fight and act out and be the shit that you generally are tomorrow or any other day of the two weeks you are here, but for tonight… The belt cracks down again, making more noise than hurt, but you can still feel the impact rattling up and down your spine, slowly building up a different sort of tension. He varies the location and strengths of his blows with precision and obvious experience. Your thoughts float off into the brilliant white heat of pain and the scorching flame-orange of pleasure.

When the belt descends for the tenth and final time you are so achingly hard that your legs can no longer hold you and your whole weight is on the surface of the desk. You can feel bruises already forming where your hips are pressed into its edge. Your body is wracked with desperate shivers and all you can do is beg.

"Dad, sir, please! I need you, I love you, I'll do whatever you say! Just fuck me! Please! Please, please, please!" On and on, your voice cracking every few words with overuse. He quickly removes you of everything you are wearing below the waist and for a brief, wonderful moment you think he is going to fuck you right there on the desk, but he steps away as soon as you are divested. 

Miles and miles away you can hear Dad fiddling with something somewhere else in the room. All you can do is try to remember how to control your voice and maybe get a handle on your breathing. You altogether fail at both. 

After an indeterminate amount of time Dad fists an hand in your hair and uses it to drag you mostly upright. He is a few inches shorter than you are, but the strength of him behind you, the breadth of his shoulders, makes him feel so massive. Makes if feel like he could wrap you up and keep you forever.

The hand in your hair guides you around the desk and onto the carpeted floor. He uses a gentle but implacable grip to shift you until you are in the position he wants. You let him move you like a puppet and try not to do anything that he doesn't specifically direct you to do. You want so badly to touch him, almost as badly as you want him to touch you. This brief, directing contact barely signifies. You want his arms around you, his teeth on your neck, and his dick filling you up. But you don't dare. Dad can and will leave you here, unsatisfied and wanting, if you disobey. As long as you don't have permission to touch him, you will allow yourself to be guided until the moment he takes you the way you so desperately desire. 

Once he has you positioned on your knees, face pressed to the carpet and arms extended above your head, Dad uses the belt to bind your hands to the leg of the desk. All you can do is beg over and over for him to fuck you, fuck you, _fuck you_! You are so hard and you want to feel him more than you have ever wanted anything. 

You know you are making all sorts of noise, but you can't stop yourself and Dad doesn't seem inclined to do anything about it, so you let your mouth run. The pitch and volume of your meaningless monologue varies wildly as Dad explores you with his hands. He briefly tightens his grip around your throat before sliding his hand to tweak at your nipples. With the other he kneads gently at the bruised spread of your ass, runs the hand up the length of your thighs and, for a brief, amazing moment, brushes a knuckle along your cock. 

As he explores every inch of you (to your overwhelming frustration and delight) you remember that this is his first chance to feel you just as much as it is your first chance to feel him. You hope he likes what he finds. Judging from the hardness pressing against your hip where he kneels beside you, you suspect he does. The way you unconsciously tug at your bonds makes the buckle of the belt rattle arrhythmiclly. Having all of this attention lavished on you feels amazing. You feel cherished. You only with you could return the favor. You can't decide if getting your hands on Dad the way he has his hands on you would feel better than the satisfaction of obedience, but you are not willing to risk it when you could very well lose everything. 

After he has touched every single inch of you, he shifts so that he is kneeling behind you. He pauses for a long moment, much too long for you, to survey the way you are sprawled out before him. You feel his gaze like a physical weight and you suddenly can't bear it anymore. 

"Dad please stop fucking waiting, please just fuck me, please! I want you, need you! Fuck me!! FUCK ME!"

Your shout seems to break him out of his reverie. You hear brief movement from behind you. His hands spread your ass and the wet heat of his tongue brushes over you. You whine like a virgin and thrash around like one too. You are so strung out on desire and the pain of his fingertips digging into your bruises that you all together lose control. His tongue swirls and presses in, and his breath huffs across your lower back. You feel so blessed and overwhelmed to have his attention lavished on you and it feels _so good_. Your entire world narrows to Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad. 

He tongues at you for a few short moments, sending sparks of pleasure pinging up and down your spine until you swear you could come just from this, but as soon as he hears you say so he pulls away. Your knees nearly give out from under you at the loss, but Dad catches you before you can fall. 

As soon as you can support your own weight he pulls away. You are too dizzy with waiting and wanting to stay aware of what is going on around you, so you let yourself float. The next thing you are really aware of is the feeling of his well-slicked finger circling your entrance, gentle and teasing. A high-pitched whine escapes from between your clenched teeth. Finally. 

You beg for more and faster, but he treats you like something made of glass, something precious. He moves with a slow precision that drives you crazy. Nothing hurts but the bruises you already have, and the ease with which he pulls you apart has you half-sobbing into the carpet. It feels like universes have lived and died before he finally adds another finger into the mix, pumping them with agonizing slowness. By the time he deigns to crook two fingers against your prostate your eyes are leaking tears of desperation and you don't care. You have lost the ability to even beg, reduced to making broken whines in the back of your throat.

Every time you think you could come apart around his fingers he stops until you have fallen back from the edge. As soon as you regain some degree of control over yourself he starts again, three fingers pushing and stretching and teasing until you are seconds from release again. It feels like forever before he stops pumping his fingers and removes them all together. Even though you know what is coming you still can't help trying to follow, leaning back as far as your bonds will allow you.

Dad takes a moment to settle you back into the position that he seems to most favor, then nudges the head of his cock against you. You try to push back against him because you want it so, so bad, but he has one hand gripping your hip and the other pressed to the back of your neck holding you in position just so. 

He still moves agonizingly slowly. All you want is for him to take you hard, slam in until you can't see or think or feel anything else, but he will not be rushed. He pushes in inch by cautious inch until you can feel his hips pressed against the bruised surface of your ass. In the long pause that he leaves for you to adjust you finally find your words.

"Fuck. Me. Hard!" Your voice comes out a broken snarl, but it is enough. Dad finally stops fucking around and _fucks_ you, slamming into you hard enough to push you the scant inches to the desk where you grip the leg and try not to fall over. He angles until he finds a position where he can graze against your prostate and you aren't sure if your vision has shorted out of if your eyes are closed. There is nothing but pleasure and ownership and _Dad _. Each precise snap of his hips has you howling with bliss. He wraps a hand around your dick and you are finally, finally gone.__

You gradually come back to find yourself curled up on the floor of the office wearing Dad across your back like a blanket. You feel awesome. Sore and exhausted yes, but the good kind of all of that.

"This was the only window in the entire house that was unlocked, wasn't it?" Your voice is hoarse with overuse and very quiet. You take his silence as assent. "You planned this whole thing."

His arms squeeze more firmly around you. "You must admit, it all worked out rather well."

"Yes." You hiss with satisfied desire.

"Perhaps next time we might enjoy ourselves without childish sneaking around."

His voice is so much better in person than you ever could have imagined. You fall asleep in the shelter of his arms.


End file.
